


sgarff

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Clothes Fucking, Coming Untouched, Dry Humping, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: When Dedue's away, the King of Faerghus will play. It won't be half as fun, though.or, it was almost certainly not amongst Dimitri's best ideas ever to eat a mysterious powdered substance in an unlabeled jar.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	sgarff

**Author's Note:**

> with dimitri's sense of taste gone it's a miracle he hasn't eaten poison and died yet
> 
> i promise i know how to spell scarf btw

Dimitri, generally, does not think of Dedue’s scarf. He likes it, undeniably, yes. It is as much a part of Dedue as his hair, or his voice, or the soft touch of his hands on Dimitri’s shoulders- he has worn it since the day they were reunited. It is familiar, and it is beloved. 

But it is not, usually, occupying him. He is content to go about his day-to-day life without the thought of Dedue’s scarf. It is a pleasant piece, but its presence is almost always overwhelmed by Dedue himself- how he holds himself, how he touches Dimitri.

These things- they are the most important. 

Except when Dedue’s gone, and the only part of his presence left behind is his scarf. Lying in their bed, caressing the imprint Dedue leaves at night, Dimitri knows, factually, that Dedue will come back. That there is nothing to his absence but business, that he shall return from Gautier territory post-haste. They will be able to touch, to kiss, sooner than Dimitri knows it. 

But Goddess, how he  _ aches _ . Another thing Dimitri knows, factually, was that he should have been better-advised against rooting through Dedue’s cabinet full of seasonings and spices in the kitchen, picking and plucking at the collection until he found the one most evocative of his presence- eventually settling for a blend of all, one which presumably made his chosen meal taste even more abhorrent than it already likely was, but smelled so welcoming, so much like his lover. A blend which contained a few generous pinches of an unlabeled small-quantity spice hidden at the back, a particular item which Dimitri could only vaguely place. 

Only in the morning, cock straining hard against his sleepclothes and face as red and hot as melted wax, did he manage to place the substance in question- an aphrodisiac, obtained from who-knows-where. Stored away by Dedue, for use at some future point. 

And Dedue- who would have probably sorted the whole mess out in the first place simply through his presence, as he always did- isn’t there. Even if Dimitri wants him- and Goddess, how he does. He’s not sure if he’d be able to stomach asking Dedue simply to relieve him, of course, but he’s sure the only thing his brain can process is Dedue- how he smells, how he looks, how his body wants and wants and can’t have.

How it does, despite Dedue’s absence, have his scarf, left strewn across their bed as an item of comfort. Just an item of clothing- in the grand scheme of things, no more or less than anything else of simple cloth and dye. But which makes Dedue in the way that his own crown makes him a king- that holds so much of him inside of it. 

That, and it smells like him. 

Hardly overwhelmingly- certainly not normally, at least. Dimitri isn’t really sure if he’d even be able to pick it up any other day. A day where he wasn’t like this, the finest little points of Dedue’s scent sending him lust-addled, when he wasn’t already rutting and grinding on anything that might offer the slightest semblance of relief. 

And it’s lying there. 

Still, splayed, in some fashion Dimitri wants to berate himself for finding inviting. Even if he’s driven to act like this by some force outside of himself, he’s hardly required to debase himself to finding the messy countenance of an outstretched piece of clothing positively sexual. Irresistible, almost. 

Yet, regardless, of anything and everything- he wants. Wants Dedue, and if he’s gone, even just temporarily, even the slightest trace of him leaves him positively febrile. So he leans forward on his bed, and clutches the fabric, possessive. Rubs it to his face, with the same tenderness he’d exercise if Dedue was there to watch him do this. If Dedue was wearing the scarf, if it was warm with his heat-  _ goddess _ , he only needs the thought for a bolt of arousal to spread throughout his body. Lies back, sends the entire thing flying towards him, a burst of movement in the stillness. 

He’s always admired the colours. How the yellows, the reds, the seawater blues intermingle- never fading, even after all the years Dedue must have been wearing the scarf for. So uniquely reminiscent of Dedue, how he dresses, how he acts. Once he’s done- done with what he so badly wants to do, regardless of how poorly-advised it might be- Dimitri tells himself to get it the best care. It’ll have to be cleaned, of course, but he won’t let it be damaged. 

Slowly, practiced, he undoes the fastenings on his own trousers. Doesn’t bother pulling them down any further than the cusp of his thighs- bitterly, he reminds himself, he won’t need any of the flexibility doing so would allow him. Instead, he leaves only his smallclothes exposed; hovers his hand, tentatively, over the erection which presses through them, before rolling their own fabric back. 

Takes, with a guttural hiss, the protruding head of his cock into his right hand, tries to resist the throbbing urge to stroke ravenously down with nothing but his bare hand as stimulation. Hardly because it would feel bad- after all, it took nothing but the brush of his inner thigh against the rigid wood of his bedpost to send him back on top of his covers, hands venturing downwards. But because it could, would, feel so much better, if he just had the patience to pull the scarf, the goddess-damned scarf, close to him-

Before he can even register himself doing it, the entire mass of study cloth is balled up, concealing his sensitivity. Surrounding it with a pressure so perpetual and slight that Dimitri isn’t sure if he can keep his resistance high for any longer. Hurriedly, he darts his other hand from where it rests on his belly to the drawers of the nightstand next to him- pulls it open, effortless, regardless of its heavy-oak construction. Ventures in, without looking, to find the simple glass bottle he keeps so close to his own side of the bed. It’s still half-full- he remembers, from the last time Dedue was there with him- and incredibly strong, made to prevent him shattering it. 

Unscrewing the cap, a familiar scent hits Dimitri’s nose, and it takes all of the strength he can muster to not buck his hips upwards simply upon sensing its presence. Everything is s _ o much _ \- always is, whenever he’s like this- and though it’s not half as arousing as Dedue’s own scent, it’s enough to remind Dimitri of pleasurable times before. Of giving his body to Dedue, coating himself with the same slick mixture inside to make it as good for him as possible. 

With another aching sigh, he draws his other hand away from his cock, from beneath the fabric, to where his other hand holds the bottle in midair. Shakes the bottle, hurried, until a spool of the clear fluid unwinds itself from the interior and slides onto his palm. And returns his palm to where his cock waits, still erect, trails the lube from the head to the base as he slides his hand down the shaft, shuddering as he does. 

Thinking of Dedue. Closing his eyes, their palms are close enough in size for him to imagine Dedue’s own in their place, stroking him. With his other hand, he moves over to the tip as he strokes, rubs the head with his thumb- one of Dedue’s favourite movements, particularly when he’s teasing him, testing his resistance. If he was here, now, Dimitri isn’t sure he could last with Dedue’s hand on him. A low, guttural moan snakes its way out of his throat, prompts him to thrust faster and more thoroughly. One that almost embarrasses him, with how pithy and lustful it sounds, enough for him to roll onto his side, muffling smaller sounds with the soft pillow underneath. 

A pillow which smells, too, like Dedue, the hand-made floral soaps he uses to wash his beautiful silver hair- Dimitri gasps a sharp  _ fuck _ into the empty air, hand resuming a rapid pace over the rigid length of his cock. 

Still, it’s not enough. Even with the more-than-abundant slickness, even with their physical similarities allowing him to believe, each thrust can only make him think of Dedue. And even though the scarf is lying there, slick-stained, pooled at the base of his cock and obscuring the top of his thighs, it’s not enough, even in the physical comfort it provides. 

With a tentative motion, Dimitri clutches the fabric in his hand. Feels how soft it is, how it accommodates his movements, the way each touch delivers an extra jab to a cloudied, wound-up mind. Brings it once more to his cock, surrounds it with the fabric and clutches it with his hand, as if he were pressing a wound. 

He winces, gasps, and strokes downward, suddenly on fire with the extra stimulation. Keeps going, even and rough, even with his body aching and twitching so feverishly that it makes doing anything but touching himself a herculean task, much less maintaining a rhythm. Dedue, Dimitri knows, would maintain a rhythm, would fuck him evenly, comfortingly, til he came on the sheets beneath them- and Dimitri would do the same in turn, much more erratic. But thinking of Dedue’s moans, his arousal, makes Dimitri stroke faster- much less evenly, hardly in his style. Numbing an aching part of himself, still with Dedue’s name under his breath. 

_ Dedue, Dedue, Dedue. _ To say his name, imagine that he’s doing it for his pleasure- it excites him, and when Dimitri closes his eyes again, he almost feels like it’s real, the way the world smells of him, how Dimitri’s fucking himself with, to, Dedue. 

He lets himself say it again, crooning, aching, loud enough that he barely notices the tender rap of knuckles against the wooden door, or the soft words spoken through the keyhole. 

“Dimitri?” 

Still, the sound short-circuits his brain, brings his thrusts to a stop. A stop that almost hurts, with how it leaves something incomplete, unfulfilled. Still, the thought of subjecting anyone on the other side of the door- he’s not sure who, isn’t eager to find out- to any more of his wanton behaviour feels markedly inappropriate, as much as he isn’t sure if he can bring himself to care about those things anymore. 

“Y-yes?” His voice is small, strangled- still, he hopes it’s enough to deal with whatever might come his way. 

“May I enter…?” 

Dimitri’s mind moves to the only obvious answer- no, we’ll have to meet later- almost speaks it into the empty air, right before he realizes who’s speaking. Whose voice, unmistakeable, is coming from behind the door. 

_ Dedue? _

“D-Dedue?” Dimitri has to stop himself from moaning it, just as he was only minutes ago- thankfully, he keeps the instinct tamed. After all, while he’s happy to have Dedue with him, it hardly seems to make sense- he wasn’t supposed to be back until the evening. And he doubts that anything could imitate Dedue so well as to trick him so immediately- still, aside from his scent, his senses feel shot, and he supposes it’s possible.

“Dimitri. It’s me.” A flash of silver passes by the keyhole, a slight demonstration of his presence. And as Dimitri looks down, he can see Dedue’s black outdoors boots through the crack left by years of use of the door, wearing it down quite thoroughly. 

“Ah. E-enter, please.” He hardly has a good reason to deny him, after all, not after he’s spent so much time howling after him. Still, if his face was already flushed with lust, it feels to Dimitri as if it can only flush further at the idea of Dedue walking in on him with his scarf pressed to his cock, rutting shamelessly against it. He hasn’t come, not yet- but he can never keep anything from Dedue, and he’s hardly sure if he’d ever want to. 

With a soft, tempered motion, Dedue opens the door, full of deliberate gentleness, into the room where Dimitri lays on his side. Hands wrapped around Dedue’s scarf, itself wrapped around Dimitri’s cock, all while his face is flushed and reddened and a watery tear that Dimitri isn’t sure if he even noticed that he’d let out clings onto the corner of his eye. He blinks upwards, towards Dedue’s presence in the doorway, but speaks nothing, the silence only interrupted by the harshness of his breath. 

“A-are you…?”

“Y-yes.” Dimitri is hardly sure what Dedue will ask, but he’s always been the observant type, and he doubts little that whatever it is, it will be nothing but true. “S-sorry.”

“You did not give me time to state my presumption.” Dedue huffs. “But- if you are apologizing for what I intended to mention, then,” and he shifts his hand around his belt, “you have no need to apologize.”

“W-what was it…?” 

“T-touching yourself.” Even now, and after everything, Dedue sometimes stumbles over these things- Dimitri does it, too, finds it as charming when Dedue does it as Dedue finds him charming when the same thing happens to him. “With my scarf.”

“Fuck, Dedue.” Dimitri’s breath “I-It just, it smells so good.”

“Does it?” Dedue mumbles. It’s hardly a question, or if one; only in the rhetorical sense. “I don’t know that I’ve given it any care to justify such.” 

“Hnnh. It smells like you, though.”

At that, Dedue pauses. 

“...I think I took some of those aphrodisiacs we received. I-I was rooting through your spice cabinet, and- I was just looking to make a blend that smelled like you do. And I combined all of it.” 

“Ah.” A sweet, yet rough-hewn smile spreads across Dedue’s face. Calmly, but with an aura of sudden excitement Dimitri can’t deny, takes a few even steps inside, swings the door shut. Looks over Dimitri, with the sort of observant gaze that makes him want to go straight back to thrusting his cock into Dedue’s scarf. “Admittedly, I was looking to use them at a time when we had greater space to negotiate the situation. But.” He pauses, considerate. “This is an entirely manageable situation.” 

“D-Dedue?”

Before Dimitri can mutter anything else, Dedue has taken seat beside him, near where Dimitri’s feet are buried underneath the covers. 

“You were touching yourself, Dimitri.” 

“...Y-yes.”

“To me. Using my scarf.” Dedue’s voice gets huskier, and though Dimitri isn’t quite sure in the low light filtering through the curtained windows, he swears to himself that Dedue might be half-hard through his trousers. 

“Yeah.”

He is sure, though, that there’s a fire behind Dedue’s eyes, one he’s seen many times before.

“Do not let my entry stop you, then. Consider me a reference, if you will.”

A jolt of frustration passes through Dimitri’s body, instinctive, at the idea of having Dedue so close and still being unable to touch him. Still, it’s overridden by the experience of having Dedue so close, of having him affirm him, allowing him to touch himself. Without hesitation, his hands slide down his cock again, their direct touch buffeted by the compress of the scarf on his most sensitive place. 

“G-good, Dimitri.” Dedue’s hands slide over his mouth, moving from where they softened his landing on the bed to his face. They wick over his lips, parting them slightly as his hot breath hits the air. “You are doing very well.” 

The phrasing of it, as plaintive as it is, sends another vivid shock through Dimitri’s body, bypassing whatever coherent parts of his brain might still be in operation and reaching his cock, a hot lust at its straining apex. He thrusts, strong and hard, meeting the friction of the fabric with enthusiasm, all the while gazing up at Dedue for approval, to assess his enthusiasm. 

“Tell me what you were thinking of me doing, Dimitri.” 

Dimitri stutters for a moment, brain jammed. Still, he chokes out a feverish few words, before returning to pleasuring himself. 

“Y-you. Your hands on me, and- I could be inside you, and- ah, Dedue, I just want to give you everything of me.” He feels so close, now, but he slows, if only to give Dedue more time to speak of him. “A-any time, even if I’m not- so, so desperate like this, need you, D-Dedue…”

“A-ah. Excellent, my Dima.”

The next few thrusts Dimitri manages are strong, tense affairs, even as he tries to hold back, tries to stop himself being enveloped in another wave of vivid pleasure. Still, he hesitates. Waits, patient, for Dedue to give him permission to come. 

“Do you want to finish, Dimitri?” 

“Please.” Truly, Dimitri knows he doesn’t have to ask permission. He can do what he wants- certainly, his body is rather insistent on the matter. Still, a greater part of him wants to ask, wants to be given the right by Dedue, who he loves enough to give everything he can. 

With a sudden movement, Dedue slips his palm over the shape of Dimitri’s thigh underneath the covers, presses it down tenderly. 

“Say my name, Dimitri. When you do.”

And that- if Dimitri wasn’t about to come, he felt quite sure that he would have become immediately ready at that moment. With Dedue’s hand on him, caressing him, the part of him responsible for any constraint goes blank, releasing its tension like a bouncing bowstring. Another thrust down his shaft is all he needs to come, releasing himself onto the fabric of Dedue’s scarf and coating it further with white fluid. 

Crying, as he does, Dedue’s name, feverish and wracked with something between satiation and hunger. 

“Dedue, D-Dedue, ah- you- F-fuck-!”

Only when the world realigns with itself, stops spinning so rapidly, does Dimitri snap back to reality, finding Dedue next to him. Clearly erect, now, panting with the edge of a moan on his breath. 

“G-good, Dimitri. S-so very good for me.”

“D-Dedue. I must have seemed rather enthusiastic there.” Truthfully, Dimitri can feel the waves of arousal return at almost the same pace as their exit was made, and suspects that he will not have much time to comment objectively on his behaviour. Still, he cannot help but feel flustered by it all- how he acted, and how Dedue acted in return. 

Dedue only nodded, simple. “Yes. But I do not think I shall live to see the day where I do not wish for such a display.” 

‘T-that is a reassuring thing to hear.” Pensively, Dimitri runs his teeth along his lower lip. “I am not sure if I am finished, completely.”

“I was made aware that those aphrodisiacs were quite potent. Recreational, and not intended for regular use. Such a reaction is understandable. It is also entirely solvable.” 

“W-would you touch me, Dedue?”

“Yes.” He pauses, only for a second. “If you make me one promise.”

“A-anything.”

“You will ask before you search through my seasonings again.”

Dimitri shudders at the thought of making another such trip. “I will promise you that, Dedue. A thousand times over.” 

“Good.”

Dedue’s hand slides up Dimitri’s thigh, one of his fingers hovering tantalizingly close to Dimitri’s pleasure, and Dimitri shudders- thinks of more promises to make Dedue, as long as they’ll mean he keeps going.

Still, with a glance up at Dedue’s eyes, and a glance down at where Dedue’s own pleasure is rigid underneath his trousers, Dimitri quite contentedly suspects that he may need little convincing on that front. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading horny!!!!
> 
> feel free to leave kudos/comments, i love reading them and if you'd like to see more of stuff like this they're a great incentive for me to keep writing
> 
> my twitter is @meowcosm, i post a LOT of dimidue + links to all my fanfiction goes up there, inc. this one


End file.
